video games
by sumy
Summary: not exactly domestic bliss. the lingering malaise of post-izumokai life. a day in the life of...etcetc, meaning not much happens.


surprisesurprise, i do not own wild adapter. minekura kazuya *bows* does.  
  
**"Video Games"** par sumy ^_^  
  
'Dammit!'  
  
Kubota stirred, effortlessly switching from asleep to awake. To continue this evening's events, he touched his lips to reach for a cigarette that was no longer there. He patted the hardwood floor around himself and found his packet half-crushed beneath Tokitoh, who was indeed still at it. Gritting his teeth, a vein bulging in his temple, his hairline slightly damp with sweat. Kubota and Tokitoh were the day-old recipients of a used PS2, a refugee from the neighbour's recent move. Tokitoh applauded themselves for generously relieving the Nakamuras of such a burden. For 5 hours straight, Tokitoh had been "trying it out", even buying two new games to prepare for the long trial ahead. Empty prawncracker bags and cans of green tea surrounded him in a circle; its slow enclosure seemed to mark the passage of time, the end of the evening and the start of the day.  
  
The controller had long fallen out of Kubota's hands. It now lay on its side against the inside of his knee. Dozing off was his way of letting Tokitoh win for a change. The extinguished cigarette that jumped lip had narrowly missed his crotch. He inspected the blackened filter and took pity on the waste before dropping it into an aluminum ashtray. Kubota waved a hand before Tokitoh's face. Nothing. Would he have noticed if his trousers lit up in flames? He wondered. Kubota stood up and stretched. For a moment he watched the colors wash over the ceiling like swirling disco lights. His back and knees merrily popped. His knuckles followed. But the sounds were hardly audible over the digitized music and the staccato shouts of a big-breasted fairy princess kicking some ass.  
  
He gathered up some of the mess in his arms, walking in front of Tokitoh's line of sight. Tokitoh hissed a little as he attempted to recover for the lost millisecond. After the garbage was deposited in the kitchenette dustbin, Kubota flopped back onto the couch, facing Tokitoh's back.  
  
'Tokitoh.'  
'…grr…ch…arrr, bitch!'  
'Tokitoh.'  
'What?'  
'It's dawn. Maybe you should give it a rest. We have errands to run tomorrow. Today.'  
'Aa-ah! After I beat this-arr!'  
'Save the game. You need to sleep.'  
'Aa-ah! Kubo-chan, don't get all mother hen on me.'  
  
'Mother? Hen?' Kubota touched his mouth again as he imagined a chain-smoking chicken. Unable to find a new pack of cigarettes within reach, he figured that meant it was time for him to rest as well. He sprawled out with his hands folded on his chest. His feet hung over the armrest. Sleep-he screwed his head deep into the corner of the couch and waited to be overcome, a bag to be zipped up over his face, with sleep. He dropped his glasses onto the floor, unworried by any damage it could sustain. The TV screen became a blinking blur of neutrons between his eyelashes. When his eyes completely shut, the thin skin of the lids turned all colors red; he was seeing through his own flesh. Tokitoh's increasingly aggravated grunting became sharper as if it was being directly piped into his ears. Tokitoh was always full of interesting noises. Kubota blindly reached out and accidentally grabbed the back of Tokitoh's neck. He'd meant to be gentler, but he'd been muddling distances a lot recently; he was out of practice, it seemed, with seeing. Tokitoh winced under his pinch. The controller clattered to the floor.  
  
'Ah, Tokitoh, did you lose again?' he asked even though he could hear the music of losers ring in the fairy princess' demise. Tokitoh sighed and shut off the console and TV. The room seemed to shift with the rising sun as the only source of light. The sudden silence and the sharp lines of shadows. Ears ringing. The refrigerator humming. Brain and stomach heavy, Kubota so heavy. He was sinking into his body.  
  
Tokitoh stood there. Emptiness filled him and swelled. He unconsciously pushed on the grain of the floor with his soles. He ran his tongue over his teeth and realized how much he had pushed himself and was now too exhausted to even brush them.  
  
'Kubota-chan,' he croaked slightly.   
  
Kubota automatically pushed himself up and back further into the couch, making some space for Tokitoh. He positioned himself so he was comfortably folded into Kubota. Being shorter, he fit almost perfectly. Kubota draped his right arm over his waist and rested his chin on Tokitoh's head so the wiry hair brushed against his mouth.  
  
'When should we wake up, Tokitoh?'  
'…'  
'Sounds good.'  
  
  
  
  
Tokitoh stood behind Kubota, distastefully eyeing the bric a brac that lined amateurishly constructed glass cases: rows of gold watches, garish jewelry that bore people's names in cursive. Hummels, collectors' plates, war memorabilia, valued refuse, the things that had to be left behind. Kubota never named his situation desperate, but there they were in the destination of such people. As Tokitoh turned circles, craning his neck, he kept kicking Kubota's heel. What melodramas were these people caught up in? Broken marriages, economies collapsing. He couldn't help constructing stories out of the secondhand air, albeit highly unoriginal and uninteresting ones, perhaps in the hope of stumbling across his own. And maybe if he looked harder, he would find something that once belonged to him.   
  
The employee in his partitioned space boredly scribbled on some forms. Behind his bowling-pin frame was a sheet of drywall studded with nails, displaying a variety of tagged arms. Kubota rested his hands on the sill, scraping his nail over the flint of his lighter and waiting for the next kick to the back of his foot. He squinted as he tried to decipher the man's scrawl. He was writing down the specs and condition of Kubota's 9mm. Kick. He pulled back the slide and inspected chamber, and with a penlight peered down the barrel.  
  
'Do you have a-'  
  
In one easy movement, Kubota slapped down an extra clip and pushed it under the bulletproof window.  
  
'Okay.' The man continued scribbling. 'So…' he said without looking up, 'you rob a coupla banks or something?'  
'Sure.'  
The man chuckled. 'It's been well used. The barrel's a bit scratched. That brings the value down a little.'  
'Doesn't matter to me.'  
'Nor to me.' The man licked his finger and rapidly counted out the money. He slid it under to Kubota's side in a small manila envelope. Without counting the wad, Kubota tucked it inside his jacket.  
'Mmm, my pocket feels so light now.'  
  
Tokitoh kicked his heel again as he tugged on his sleeve.  
  
'Hey, let's get some takoyaki, eh? No. Dim sum. I'm hungry.'  
  
Kubota nodded. Weather-beaten bells dangling from the doorhandle jangled as they exited the pawnshop.  
  
'Then afterwards we have to go see the vet, Tokitoh.'  
'Ack.'  
'You did say your hand was acting up again.'  
'Yeah, but that crap he gave me the last time had me yakking into the toilet all night.'  
'If it hurts, maybe it's getting better.'  
  
  
  
  
Koh hummed and hawed. Then with much deliberation, he tapped on the counter that housed boxes of ginseng elixirs and large apothecary jars of foul-smelling roots and pulverized antlers.  
  
'No (tap) more (tap) video (tap) games (tap).' Koh's hand then returned to its original position as support for his smiling head. Tokitoh grimaced and looked down at his right hand. Apart from the shooting pains and the involuntary curling of his fingers, his playing thumb was particularly bothersome when he woke up.  
  
'Oi, it's got nothing to do with that. You're not a real doctor anyway, are you?'  
  
Koh languidly rose and rounded the counter. He patted Tokitoh's head, his wrap slipping down over Tokitoh's face. His scowl was still visible through the veil of painted flowers. Tokitoh pushed it away like he was entering a room and harrumphed loudly.  
  
'Man, and we just got that thing, Kubo-chan. How unfair is that? It's like my own body is turning on me! I'm turning into…I dunno. THIS SUCKS.'  
'I can always play, and you can watch.' Kubota grinned slightly.  
'Ha, you're not very good at being funny, are you?'  
'Haaaaii.'  
'Oh, Kubota used to tell great jokes when he was younger,' Koh said. 'He knew some amazingly dirty ones, his peers had shared with him. But he's an adult now. Amusement shouldn't come so easily to a mature person with more important concerns. Adults don't play video games when it hurts them either.'  
  
Tokitoh sneered and noisily chewed on a dumpling.  
  
'I'd rather be some dumb kid playing in mud.'  
'Oh no, Tokitoh-kun. Not like some mere animal.'  
  
He smiled again before returning to his counter. Tokitoh made a grand show of pinching his nose as Koh doled out some mysterious blackened fungi.  
  
Demonstrating no opinion on any matter, Kubota ashed onto his saucer and meditated on the floating afternoon dust. Tokitoh crossed his legs and accidentally kicked Kubota's knee.  
  
'Oh, sorry, Kubo-chan.'  
'Tokitoh, you've got some…' Kubota reached over and flicked a morsel of pork from his face.  
  
  
  
  
They waited on the platform, blockaded in from all sides by the lunchtime crowd. Tokitoh was hot and irritable despite the current cool weather. Ants crawled up nape. His hand, stuffed deep into his pocket, hardly improved conditions. With his left hand, Tokitoh compulsively wiped his brow while sweat humidified the right. The coarse almost equine-like hair clung to his skin. The intermittent pain couldn't compare to the itch.   
  
'Kubota…'  
  
He couldn't remove the glove obviously; Saori's reaction was still fresh in his memory. He imagined everyone on the platform, each face distorted with the same horror. Kubota sought out his arm and pulled him through the crowd, parting the sea with a particularly rude shoulder and a glare. He didn't let go until they reached the top of the escalator. On the street corner, Kubota flagged down a cab.  
  
'Sorry, I don't mean to waste money like this.'   
  
Kubota shrugged. Just ten minutes ago, Tokitoh was the Tokitoh he had settled into, snapping and surly, energetic and at ease. Now he was hunched over in crash position, scratching rabidly at the leather glove.  
  
Once they reached Kubota's apartment, Tokitoh threw off his clothes and jumped in the shower. Kubota picked up the sartorial trail and deposited his clothes on top of the toilet tank.  
  
'Are you all right?' Kubota sat on the toilet and lit a cigarette. An ashtray had already been placed next to the spit cup.  
'Crowds, you know. They drive me nuts. Suddenly everyone has the right to hit you in the gut with an umbrella handle, just cos they've got some fucking place to go.'  
'Um-hm.'  
  
Tokitoh scrubbed his hand, killing that itch. It would eventually crust over in scabby lines, raked all the way past his wrist. He kept at it, as if it could be destroyed. The pain was distant. He wasn't scratching his hand, he was scratching something else's. Just looking at it, this grotesquely inhuman incarnation, dissociation came easily. But waking up to it, he was plunged into reality. Every single day.  
  
Kubota knocked on the frosted glass. Tokitoh froze as if he'd been caught.  
  
'K…ku…' Tokitoh grit his teeth.  
'Are you all right?'  
'Yeah…crowds…God, I hate crowds.'  
  
Kubota finished off half a pack while Tokitoh was still in the bathroom. He gazed at the video game system through the smoke then caught his reflection in the TV screen. He raised a hand, and with something vaguely resembling amusement, waved to himself. He then pointed and pulled an imaginary trigger. A funnel of smoke burst from his lips as he fired. He disappeared inside of it.  
  
Tokitoh finally emerged, sullen and dripping, like a cat stuck out in the rain.  
  
'You're not thinking of getting rid of it, are you?'  
'Hm…I may have to put it under lock and key. But I think I can trust you. I think.'  
  
Tokitoh shrugged resignedly, but his thoughts spun with the desire to play the new games still wrapped in crisp cellophane. Kubota pointed at Tokitoh. Tokitoh snapped out of it and in an automatic reaction clapped his hand over his right arm. Raised red marks peeked out from edge of his glove. A pearl of a tear formed in the corner of his eye. He had slapped the sensitive skin a little too hard. Kubota opened his mouth but refrained from making any comments. His hand fell back down onto his thigh.  
  
'What should we have for dinner?'  
'I'm not really hungry.'  
  
Kubota got up.  
'Apple curry it is.'  
  
  
  
  
The PS2 taunted him with its inactivity. As he shoveled down his food, his hands, in his mind, busily wielded a controller. The spoon missed his mouth when he landed a roundhouse kick on his opponent. He bounced through pixilated landscapes, razed buildings, and dodged blue fireballs. No. No, he was in a blackhole flat, eating instant curry with sticky rice. Kubota ate little of what was on his plate, swirling the rest around with a spoon. He opted for a fag and a cold beer instead. He knew Tokitoh would finish off his remains.  
  
Kubota retired to his coffin-narrow room where he half-listened to tinny pop music from a clock radio. For 10 minutes he went through his small library, wondering what to re-read, wondering what he hadn't finished reading, wondering what he never even opened. He couldn't remember; it had been so long. He sighed. Whatever title he chose, he'd be starting all over, no matter what. He shrugged and laid down. His beer had quickly gone warm and flat.  
  
An hour later, Tokitoh crept in.  
  
'I can't sleep out there. I keep-'  
  
Without a word or glance, Kubota shifted over towards the wall. Tokitoh reclined next to him on the twin-sized bed. He laid his right hand on his chest.  
  
'Kubo-chan, night.'  
'Un.'   
  
Tokitoh switched off the lamp and stared into the dark. As his eyes adjusted the room took shape again, emerging from nothing like a photograph in a chemical bath. He had a little heartburn, but that never stopped him from visiting the land of nod before. It was the cold pain lingering on the surface of his hand that kept him awake.  
  
'I should cut it off. I should just cut the fucking thing off.'  
  
He turned onto his side to sneak a look at Kubota. He wondered how much differently he would look dead than he did now, asleep. He rarely moved, his chest barely rose and fell. No R.E.M.-did he dream at all? Tokitoh placed his finger beneath his nose and was certainly reassured by the thin exhalations. He'd often inexplicably scared himself like this.  
  
Before he knew it, the sun had snuck up on him again. The bedroom was windowless, but he could see the light pouring in from under the door like golden syrup. Kubota finally shifted, onto his side, spooning Tokitoh. His large callused hand slid over Tokitoh's ribcage and trickled down his stomach. Tokitoh shut his eyes; his eyes felt cold. He didn't even realize he had a hard-on, even though the morning regularly beckoned one to his initial embarrassment. He couldn't remember much, but enough to participate in "civilized" society: shame, confusion, need. He succumbed to humanity, succumbed to his touch. Early on, he had speculated on whether Kubota was really a guy, because he seemed to never suffer this constant calling of nature. It took some time before he eased into the mutual give and take their relationship was based on. They had discovered their lonelinesses matched and agreed upon an unwritten contract only their souls could read.  
  
Tokitoh watched the shadow arch over him as Kubota reached for a tissue to wipe his hand off with. He daubed at the dribble on Tokitoh's stomach then flicked the wad away in the general direction of the trashcan, as he does with cigarette butts. Tokitoh caught up with his breathing and tugged his shirt down. With Kubota's face so close, he wondered if he ought to kiss him. He couldn't deny there were moments when it would have been appropriate, or at least for those fleeting seconds, he thought it would be. The only semi-kiss they had shared was after an especially dipsomaniacal round of karaoke. As he was booed off the stage by salarymen for his marathon renditions of classic enka tunes, he threw his arm around Kubota and smeared a wet one across his mouth. Like it was New Year's or something. Kubota simply smiled and exhaled the trapped smoke.   
  
  
  
  
Tokitoh opened his eyes when Kubota buried his face into his neck. By this time, he normally climbed over Tokitoh and scrounged around for breakfast or early lunch, depending on when they woke up. He felt his breath slacken to the rhythmic pace of a sleeper. Tokitoh glumly looked down past his flaccid penis to his underwear stretched taut between his knees. The post-orgasmic drowsiness had hit him like a ton of bricks, more so than usual. He druggedly kicked them off and resolutely decided to sleep in.  
  
The city kicked into gear for the work day; the walls couldn't keep out the cars and ghostly muffled dialogue, the hurried footfalls of another late 9 to 5-er and a strummed chord of slamming doors. Despite this daily urban chorus, the room contained such an impossible quietude and stillness. It was a stuck world; everybody trying to get in, nobody being let in. It was their stuck world.   
  
In his sleep, Kubota braced Tokitoh's hand. His mouth fell slackly open. And in his dream, Kubota leaned in and kissed it.  



End file.
